


Fried

by pergamond



Series: Careers [2]
Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 02:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15353760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pergamond/pseuds/pergamond
Summary: Distracted by his new relationship, Oshitari is neglecting his duties at the clinic so Oishi steps in to help.Extract:This is the Oshitari surgery. We are open Monday to Friday from 9:30am to 6pm and Saturdays until 1pm. If you let me know what time you’d like an appointment, I’ll see if the doctor will be available which —in all honesty— is probably a no.





	Fried

**Author's Note:**

  * For [balloyarn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/balloyarn/gifts).



The rhythmic ring-ring of the surgery telephone interrupted the overly-soothing piano music that tinkled around the empty waiting room. Shishido Ryou pulled off his headphones as he leaned precariously back on his chair to make a scrambling grab at the phone handset. The chair fell back onto its wheels with a clonk as Shishido pressed the answer button and raised the handset to his ear.

“This is the Oshitari surgery. We are open Monday to Friday from 9:30am to 6pm and Saturdays until 1pm. If you let me know what time you’d like an appointment, I’ll see if the doctor will be available which —in all honesty— is probably a no.”

There was a confused pause on the other end of the line. Shishido pulled the handset away from his ear to confirm he was holding it the right way up. With a shrug, he pinned the phone between his shoulder and ear and picked up one of the stormtrooper figurines that decorated the reception desk, balancing it on the tip of one finger.

“Ah… uhm...” a hesitant vote came down the line. “Shishido-san?”

Shishido straightened in his chair, the stormtrooper taking an unfortunate skydive to the floor. “Yeah? Who is this?”

“It’s Oishi Shuichirou,” came the reply. “I’m calling from the outpatient unit at the hospital. All the referrals I’ve made to Oshitari-san’s clinic for check-up appointments have bounced back, with a request for another clinic. I wondered what was happening?”

“Oh, right. Err.” Shishido bent to fumble on the floor for the defeated stormtrooper. His fingers caught hold of one leg and hoisted the toy back onto the counter, where he set about repositioning it in a more threatening poise. “Basically, KFC.”

“KFC?” came the confused reply. “The … the fast food restaurant?”

“Finger lickin’ good, that’s the one,” confirmed Shishido. He tapped the keyboard in front of him to pull up Oshitari’s schedule on the surgery computer in order to confirm when the doctor had actually last seen a patient. The screen remained dark. Shishido had not yet turned the computer on that day, although it was now four in the afternoon. With an exaggerated sigh, he bent again and pressed the button for the machine to boot-up. “He goes there with Atobe.”

“A-atobe?” This information did not seem to be answering Oishi’s queries. “Oshitari isn’t in work because he’s at KFC with Atobe?”

“Yeah.” Shishido thought about offering a longer explanation regarding the dating contest Atobe had ran on his radio show and how Oshitari had convinced him that the right person could make any date perfect, even at the most dire location. The chain that fried the likely unmentionable parts of a bird had become “their place” and it was now a relationship goal to visit every establishment in Tokyo, despite despising the food. Shishido at least received free burgers whenever Oshitari did show up to collect his mail.

“I…” Oishi still seemed at a loss for words. “Um. Isn’t it open quite late?”

Shishido mildly admired Oishi’s ability to focus on the only part of the story that was affecting his situation. Maybe even Seigaku had learned that questions involving the actions of his erstwhile buchou only led to the asylum.

“Yeah, but they don’t like the other customers,” he explained now. “So they stay away from the afterwork crowds.” And went to satisfy their fast-food fetish in the middle of the afternoon. Or morning. Sometimes both and occasionally just the morning, but subsequent activities meant the afternoon was a write-off as well.

“I… see…,” Oishi stammered, his tone indicating that he really did not. But Shishido could hardly blame him. “Thank you for the… clarification.”

“No worries.” Shishido spun the phone handset to balance it on one finger before flipping it back towards its stand. The phone missed, clattering to spin sadly on its back. Shishido ignored this, sliding his headphones back into place to continue to listen to the radio, which had improved dramatically since Atobe’s show had become a late-night only broadcast.

 

* * * * *

 

“Are you sure about this?” Shishido followed the doctor into Oshitari’s office, bringing with him the requested list of patients that were waiting for appointments.

Oishi turned to reveal an overly bright smile. It was an expression that suggested he was experiencing many different emotions, none of which was 'sure'.

“Of course, Shishido-san,” he said, reaching to take the list from his adopted assistant and smoothing the scrunched paper flat on the desk. “The hospital outpatient unit can’t see new patients until those requiring follow-up appointments are moved to the clinics. It makes perfect sense for me to take over clinic duties to help with the backlog until…” he hesitated.

Shishido raised his eyebrows. “Until Yuushi and Atobe stop banging at KFC?”

Oishi turned beet red as he turned away and began to attempt to iron the patient list completely flat with his finger tips. “I’m sure… they’re not! Not at the restaurant! It would be… the hygiene!”

Shishido shrugged, turning back to the door. “I dunno, but I’d switch to Moss Burger if I were you.” He waited until Oishi looked up again, still appearing partially asphyxiated, before jerking his thumb in the direction of the surgery entrance. “The KFC just down the street here? They’ve done it.”

He left to the sound of spluttering as if of a person trying to keep down their lunch.

 

* * * * *

 

Oishi adjusted the fish tank and stepped back to admire the result. He had not made many changes to Oshitari’s office, which was well organised despite the doctor’s less than stellar dedication to his hours at present. However, a few homely touches helped with the lengthy list of patients that had accumulated on the clinic’s register.

There was a one-knock warning and Shishido walked into the office, flipping over sheets of a printout in his hand. “You got three more appointments for tomorrow morning,” he told Oishi, gesturing at the paper. “Including a dude who claims to have broken his foot but says only weak snowflakes go to ER, and a woman with repeated chest infections who wants a second opinion after her regular doctor told her to quit smoking.” He rolled his eyes and slammed the list down on the table. “And that Obaa from yesterday called to say the cream you prescribed has made her toenails go yellow. She’s your first after lunch.” He pulled a face. “Didn’t she come in for some elbow pain?”

Oishi sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe I wasn’t clear enough with my directions,” he said wearily. “It’s actually a powder. She should have dissolved it in a glass of water.”

“Huh.” Shishido was eyeing the new additions to the office. Pinned on the wall facing the desk was a calendar of tropical fish, while their live cousins swam in the new tank near the chair reserved for patients. Walking over to the latter, he peered at the ornaments decorating the gravel bottom. “Is that a mermaid? Hey!” he tapped the tank wall. “That’s no way to treat a lady!” he told the largest of Oishi’s fish that was investigating the tail of its half-human clay counterpart.

Oishi had taken over the printout and was scanning the list, flipping over the pages to see the reverse side. It looked like they were due for another long day.

“Thanks for staying late,” he told Shishido, as the other man stepped back from berating the underwater residents. Arguably, Shishido had been paid for doing who-knew-what for a number of weeks so perhaps owed the clinic the overtime, but Oishi was grateful he was not trying to find a new assistant. While no medical expert, Shishido did at least know where Oshitari stored all the surgery’s supplies.

“Yeah, no problem.” Shishido headed for the door. “Hey, any chance you could manage solo for a few hours tomorrow? I’ll be in by 11.”

Oishi hesitated, thinking of the patients he had stacked in 15 minute blocks from 8:00 to noon. He had opted to open the surgery an hour early in the hope of finishing at a reasonable time. Thus far, this had not been a successful strategy.

Shishido rolled his eyes. “I’ll send a replacement. A good one. Promise.”

Oishi managed a weak smile, “Then, of course.” He hesitated before adding. “Uh, Shishido-san… that Star Wars solider on the reception desk?”

“Yeah?” Shishido was half out the door, but leaned back in to see Oishi.

Oishi rubbed his nose awkwardly. “Perhaps… it’s a bit… unwelcoming?” He looked at Shishido’s blank face before adding in exasperation, “Could you at least point the gun away from the patients?”

 

* * * * *

 

It took Shishido three attempts to find the appropriately occupied KFC. Given the popularity of chicken unmentionables battered in bread crumbs, it should have been a near impossible task. But Atobe was methodical even when it came deeply questionable dating habits. Shishido was fairly confident the pair were back among the “S”s.

Ignoring the puzzled look of the cashier, Shishido ordered a large soda to accompany his previous purchased packet of popcorn nuggets, and took the stairs to the second floor of the Shinagawa KFC branch. By the window, he found Atobe and Oshitari in a romantic face-off involving threatening the other to take a bite of the meal they had purchased.

Shishido grabbed a chair from a neighbouring table, letting its legs screech across the floor as he dragged it over to their corner. He slammed the chair legs flat and straddled the back, dumping his coke and chicken pieces on the table before taking a long drag from the drink. “Oi.”

Atobe looked faintly appalled by the popcorn chicken blobs that rolled across the table and wiped his fingers needlessly on a napkin; From what Shishido could see, he had been winning the no-food-foodoff.

By contrast, Oshitari leaned back in his own seat with an easy smile, as if there was nothing remotely embarrassing about being joined on a date at ten in the morning by the receptionist of the place you should have been working. “Good morning, Ryou. Is there something we can do for you?”

Shishido reached across the table and helped himself to one of their chicken wings. He made sure it was from Oshitari’s side of the meal, leaving Atobe with the bigger portion to finish. “Yeah. You can come back to work.”

Between bites of breadcrumbed fowl, he summarised the current situation at the clinic, from fish tank to grandmothers who were applying their oral medication to their toes.

“Ah, Tanaka-obaa-chan,” reminisced Oshitari, idly picking up a fry and twirling it in his fingers. “It has been a while since we two last met and you extended the list of side effects for commonly prescribed drugs.”

Shishido selected a second piece of fried chicken. This time from Atobe’s side of the table.

Atobe pointedly pushed one of the unused napkins towards Shishido before turning so he could rest the arm along the back of his chair. “I fail to see the issue,” he commented with a flick of the same hand. “Aside from the undesirable addition of water-life, the clinic seems to be operating adequately.”

Ignoring the napkin, Shishido dropped the bones of his finished chicken wing onto Atobe’s tray. “The patients aren’t the issue!” he exclaimed. “It’s me! I’m run off my feet making appointments for idiots demanding time slots between their little Yuko’s underwater basket weaving class and Bobo the dog’s circus acts because the fanged frisbee in your office is too busy teaching people how to swallow to do it himself!”

Oshitari looked quite delighted. “Oishi is teaching people to swallow? I had no idea he had skills in such an area. I should have installed cameras.”

Shishido left. Walking back to the KFC counter downstairs, he ordered an portion of six chicken wings and returned to empty them onto Oshitari’s plastic tray.

Oshitari released an exaggerated sigh as he viewed the grey meat piled up before him. “You are right, Ryou. I cannot have someone else taking over my clinic. I will return.”

“Thank the Force.” Shishido stood up once more, picking up his soda as he prepared to leave.

“Soon.”

Shishido sat down and took another of Atobe’s chicken wings. It was cold. He dumped it on Oshitari’s tray and switched it for one of the fresh ones. “If soon ain’t in the next twenty minutes, then it ain’t soon enough,” he told Oshitari.

Oshitari’s response was a broad smile. “Oh, Ryou. Fear not. You will enjoy this.”

 

* * * * *

 

Shishido returned to the clinic to find an ambulance parked outside the entrance. Despite the medically inclined nature of the establishment, this was unlikely to be a good sign.

Pushing past the paramedics unloading a stretcher from the vehicle, Shishido stepped through the sliding doors to be greeted by a junk pile of tangled chairs, overturned tables and torn magazine pages. In the centre of this carnage, Oishi was bent over a man clutching his foot in apparent agony. He looked around for his temporary replacement to find him leaning sulkily against the reception counter.

“Oi, Gakuto — what gives?” he asked, picking his way through the waiting room graveyard to the red head’s location.

Mukahi Gakuto gave an exasperated shrug. “I just said he could test if his foot was really broken by a basic lava floor game,” he said, making a vague gesture of a route across the now-overturned tables and chairs that traversed the waiting room floor.

Shishido stuck the end of his chewed straw in his mouth and noisily sucked up the remains of his soda. “Yeah? How’d he do?”

“Pretty good. Foot totally not broken,” said Mukahi triumphantly. “Forgot all about it by the time he’d hopped to the third table. Best test ever.”

“Uh huh. Uh huh.”

The paramedics had brought the stretcher into the clinic, but could not reach their patient until they’d cleared a path through the strewn furniture. Shishido and Mukahi watched as the pair began to move chairs out of the way while Oishi tried to persuade the man to release his foot long enough for him to fit a brace.

“So, he faking it now or what?” Shishido asked, as the patient briefly released the afflicted limb but cried out again before Oishi could reach it.

“Oh, probably not,” Mukahi said dismissively. He lifted Shishido’s stormtrooper from the counter and started to attempt an unnatural contortion of its movable limbs. “The idiot missed the fourth chair and went flying into that low table thing.” He gestured at the remains of a magazine table that was missing two of its legs. “You could hear the crack.” He demonstrated what he meant by flexing the stormtrooper’s boot.

Shishido pulled the figurine from his hands. “Hey!” The pride of the Empire’s army now seemed to be involved in yoga.

Further conversation was drowned out by the wail of protests that emanated from the patient as he was loaded onto the stretcher. Shishido noted he seemed to have reconsidered his views on hospital emergency rooms.

The patient out of his clinic, Oishi came over with a smile loaded with relief at the sight of Shishido.

“Uh. Sorry?” volunteered Mukahi.

Oishi opened his mouth, no doubt to deliver a platitude that suggested he knew that the accident had nothing to do with Mukahi’s suggestion that the waiting room be used as an obstacle course. When no words were forthcoming, he quit the exercise and managed a nod before heading towards his office.

“Kikumaru wouldn’t have been any better!” Mukahi shouted after him as the door clicked shut.

He grudgingly helped Shishido straighten a handful of chairs from the crash site before grabbing his coat. “A new batch of patients called just this last hour,” he mentioned as he headed towards the door. “I filled in their details as you said.”

 

* * * * *

 

Shishido scowled in confusion as he flipped over the sheet of paper Mukahi had left on the reception desk. According to the poorly scrawled list, at least twelve patients had called requesting emergency appointments for that afternoon. Mukahi had indicated all of these were existing patients at the clinic, but none of them had a medical history worth him noting down.

Suspecting his roped-in replacement of laziness, Shishido pulled the computer keyboard towards him and began to cross-check the list with the surgery’s records. Not trusting Mukahi to edit the database directly, Shishido had made the files only readable to his former teammate and told him just to jot down any new appointments by hand. He had been expecting no more than one or two calls during the few hours he was gone, even with Oishi’s fresh demands that they attract patients like wasps to a jar full of jam.

The first patient on the list had indeed visited the clinic before but the patient record only noted an “excessively tight muscular system” and a recommendation to “apply suitable creams”. Second on the list had a similarly succinct summary, listing “overly sensitive skin” and the treatment of “lighter contact fabric”.

Frown deepening, Shishido pulled up the patient list from that morning. The patients not new to the clinic had several paragraphs of description associated with their last visit, detailing symptoms and the full name —both chemical and brand— of the prescribed medication, complete with assigned dosage. Yet every patient on this afternoon’s schedule had no more than a sentence.

“Unusual entry requirements” —read the third entry— “recommend slow stretching of goals.”

It was possible Oshitari was involved in tutoring medical school entrants. It was not likely.

Shishido entered Mukahi’s handwritten list in the clinic schedule, printed the result and went to give the output to Oishi.

“Is something wrong?” Oishi asked as his assistant hovered by the doorway on his way out.

Shishido rubbed a hand over his spiked hair as he eyed the list now sitting on Oishi’s desk. How could he tell the doctor that there was something about that pristine sheet of paper that made him feel inexplicably filthy? “Those patients might be a little different,” he volunteered.

Oishi frowned and looked down at the list of names, “In what way?”

Shishido shrugged and stepped back into the waiting room. “I got no idea.”

 

* * * * *

 

“Ahm.”

Shishido looked up from his magazine to find a middle-aged gentleman in a dung-brown woven suit standing in front of the reception desk. The man ducked his head in apology for the interruption, his eyes lowered to the white edge of the countertop.

“Yo.” Shishido straightened in his chair and tossed the magazine to one side. “You need your next appointment? I got…” His fingers tapped the keyboard to bring up the schedule at the clinic for the next week. “… same time on Wednesday?”

“Ah… no.” The man’s voice was so quiet, Shishido had to lean forward to hear him over the background piano music. “Could you please tell Oshitari-sensei that the new doctor could not provide any extra insight?” His fingers pressed nervously together as they rested on the lip on the counter.

“Uh. Sure.” There was no box for messages on the patient database, so Shishido reached for a pad of post-it notes. Peeling off the top bright pink sheet, he scribbled << Fish-boy has no thoughts >> and put the pen down decisively.

“Thank you,” said the man, still not looking at Shishido directly as he bent to pick up a polished brown briefcase before moving in a slow shuffling gait towards the door.

Shishido waited until the glass panes of the clinic had slid shut behind him before vaulting over the countertop and knocking on Oishi’s door. “Everything all right?” he asked, as he stuck his head into the office.

Oishi was standing with his back to the doorway, staring down at something on the patient examination bed. As Shishido swung the door open, he made a quick grab for the items to conceal them in his palm as he turned to face his receptionist.

“Ah, Shishido!” His fist squeezed compulsively around the contents in his hand and Shishido saw his expression change to one of horror. Looking down at his own hand, Oishi turned slowly to the trash can and uncurled his fingers to let the items fall into the bin. He had to give his hand a slight shake to loosen one rubber nub that had stuck to his skin. “Yes,” he said without looking back. “It is all fine.”

Shishido returned to his desk and grabbed a pen and added a line to the pink post-it. << Fish-boy has no thoughts on used butt plugs >>.

 

* * * * *

 

Oishi had never washed his hands so many times. Removing the cap from the last bottle of hand sanitiser he had found under the office’s small sink, he half filled it with water to extract the last traces of soap from the container.

Extract. He no longer liked that word.

Perhaps there was fresh soap in the clinic restrooms. Shaking his hands dry, he stepped into the waiting room to find Shishido deep in conversation with his last patient of that day. The woman was tall enough to lean on the reception counter, where she appeared to be showing the receptionist a selection of leather whips.

“So I said to Yuu-boy, I like the feel of hard riding leather, but most of my clients need to not have scars, you know? I got this one guy —works for a super posh school, but I can’t tell you which one…” she gave Shishido a broad wink, nudging his shoulder with the tip of one of her whips. “… spends half his time in front of the cameras for NHK promoting his sports team. But at night?” she let out a low whistle. “He is a naughty naughty boy who wants to try a whole new use for his necktie collection.”

She picked up a small pink candy from the bowl on the desk and popped it into her mouth. “But you can’t have some guy who is supposed to be this role model for athletic kids appear covered with lacerations. So how can I inflict pain but no damage?” She shook her head at the difficulty of the situation, scooping up another couple of sweets and tossing one at Shishido.

“You know, it’s great Yuu-boy runs these sessions. Where else can I try out new stuff to keep things interesting but still guarantee the safety of my clients? I hope the new doc is as adventurous,” she ran one hand lovingly over the worn handle of a whip that ended in a collection of knotted ropes. “I got a whole load of stuff I want to try out.”

Oishi did not go to the restrooms. He walked out the door. Leaning against the frame, white surgery coat looped over one arm, was Oshitari Yuushi.

“Leaving early, Oishi?” he asked. “Good for you. Ryou told me you’ve been working far too hard. I’ll take over from here, Mmm?”

 

 


End file.
